Monday, April 9, 2007

03.01.07

last night to bedi see the film the bodyguard has 90 minutes leftcan’t make it, too tiredthis morning, up early,catch dawson’s creek(pacey just kissed joey for the first time yesterday,and i wanted to see what came next,although i know what comes next)and at the end it says the bodyguard is on next,and i watch sports morning show,yesterday’s ellen,the view,and then tune in for the final half hour of the bodyguardand cry five minute before i’m supposed to,conditioned by so many viewings of this movie that i will always love.

03.02.07

i don’t really ask for muchbut i like it when i get ityou offered me a bookafter offering me a drink and then paying for my mealand then today a lengthy thank you emaili wanna call yr folks and tell them thanks.

03.03.07

(dream)

i.

ian and i are in the kitchen at a small gathering with a couple of others and this guy from naropa, chris luna, was on my left. The luna guy is a combination of luna, himself a ferocious talker who knows everything, and chris stroffolino, a ferocious talker who knows everything, particularly music. the luna-stroffolino guy doesn’t stop talking, as i keep turning the pages of the book in my hands and get a paper cut, and decent blood flow as i turn each page without reading, just to stay away from the discussion so i don’t kill luna-stroffolino. finally there’s a pause, and i keep hoping no one engages him, especially ian. then ian engages him.

ii.

i am telling ian how the entry in timeout for this club restaurant/club baby jupiter doesn’t list their cross streets. (in reality, the club, closed for a few years now, used to be on stanton between ludlow and allon streets. in the dream it seems more like avenue a across from the park, like between E.7th st. and st. mark’s pl.) ian and i are in the room off the kitchen in audrey tatou’s apartment, that french movie actress who has huge brown eyes and starred in the film amelie. ian and she start talking about the huge wicker basket she has on the floor. the basket is sort of basonet-shaped but without the depth. ian talks about where he got his and how he keeps his cds in it. she says how she’s been thinking of doing that, too. i tell her she can push the cds to the right and let the baby sleep on the left.

03.04.07

(dream)

in big hall in nyc,seems sorta s.i. ferry waiting area-ish,they’re announcing some nfl thing,i think new hall of famers are to my left in the front toward the stage,someone has the exact old new voice sign that was painted on cardboard in our old school newspaper officei want to get it from him,but have to pee and go do a bathroom searchsee an open fridgeand go to close it and see a maid putting away groceriesask where a bathroom is,she says upfront.i walk there and everything’s overand new voice guy is gone.mayor bloomberg recognizes me from the presidential announcement the other dayand says it’s nice to have a new yorker here,i’m wearing a grey suit,which makes me think we’re in cleveland.i go to the bathroomand it’s labeled after one of the boroughs,staten island.

03.05.07

i’m glad you got yr minidisc player backfrom our good friends at the u.s. postal servicei was going to insure itbut the post office had closedand i didn’t have to go out again(not for six days)so i left it to chance(thank you chance)

03.06.07

gilmore girls is progressinguntil its endinvariablywe all know what’s to comeand though i knowthat luke and lorelai will be paired once againi want to go thereand go thereand go there again.

03.07.07

waiting for nathanielat the chelsea square dineri call up medicine shoppeto renew one of my scripsand the woman answers “rite aid pharmacy, can I help you?”and i think i heard her wrong,i tell her i want to renew a scrip,and she asks me for my last name,but my pharmacy always asked me for my renewal number,and i ask her is this medicine shoppe,and she tells me no this is rite aid,what happened i say,paul closed the store and sold us all his prescriptions,and i hang up.i don’t wanna be with a chain again,they don’t need my business,don’t need my cash and carry,so it’s time to pharmacy shop again,

03.08.07

where are youi haven't heard back from youwhy do i keep havin' to check in,first i send an emailand a few days later another oneand then i call yr home and work numbersit's the same all the timeand i never understand whywhen you tell me you've been busy,when the truth is that no one's that busy,how hard is it to make a phone calleven one to say you're too busy to talk right noweven one where you ask if everything is ok.

03.09.07

sent another gossip item about the view to my sisterplease don’t tell anyone that i tape it everydayso on my non-work days (everyday) i can sleep as late as i wantit’s gotten more interesting with rosie there (um, o’donnell, hello)not that i like her, she’s kind of a bully,but bullies help the plot move along,everyone knows that.

03.10.07

dream

i’m the host of the oscarsand it’s taking me a long time to get ready.for some reason i’m doing it from my seat in the crowd, about five rows deep.next to me, with someone i know,male 20’s,are giant cue cards with jokes on them.i put on my pants and shirt,and they fit finebut my pant legs are sewn together in one spot at the calves.i go backstageand cut off matthew perry on the way to the lady producer who picked me.she’s busy, but the seamstress is there and fixes it.i walk toward the stage,but still need my tie and have to pee.i go into some back roomwhile a techie guy is at the other end of the room.it looks like a projectionist’s area from a high school auditorium.i’m nervous, so leave and head to a different part of manhattan,grand central station i think,wearing my oscar’s outfit.once there i go outsideand then realize i need to get back,and want to cab,but only have two singles in my oscar pants,so i go back in and take the subway to union square to host the oscars.once back, i realize wouldn’t it be cool to do a whole new monologue that none of the producers have ever heard?but more importantly,there’re billions watching this show,i have to mention boog city.

03.11.07

another gossip item sent to my sister about the viewthis one from page six, and they’re saying that rosie wants her own showso she’ll have ownershipand a lot more dough,i hope she doesn’t leave,even though she’s a bully,because bullies help the plot move along,everyone knows that.

03.12.07

boog city is finally getting a bit electronici can now make pdfs again(years after everyone else could, but what can you do)it’s so easy, it’s hard to believeso offering pdf subs to everyone,which is like 40 people so far,i hope the file’s not so big that it clogs up their email accounts.

03.13.07

set my alarm to meet my mom at the doctor early,working on four hours sleep without four more i want now,but mom has clogged arteries, maybe,and wants somebody to be there for the test,’cause the doc says sometimes people need help getting home afterward,and i like my sleepand i like not leaving my apartmentbut i like my mom more.

03.14.07

you can finally playit makes me feel really pleasedsorta like the bees kneesno, just like the bees knees

03.15.07

i tell my sister to remember the ides of marcheven though i never quite know what it is,brutus killing caesar?and she puts it into an email she's writing

03.16.07

the beginning of the film kuffs (1993) has an extended, in apartment dancing scene,where a shirtless george kuffs,played by christian slater,and his girlfriend, maya carlton,played by the model milla jovovich,who’s in a white tanktop and matching panties,and they’re dancing ’round his apartment,tickling each otherand laughing.this may be as good an opening to any film ever.

03.17.07

i get an email about the1st annual, 1st ever nyc anarchist book fair at judson churchread it as 1st annual, 1st ever nyc antichrist book fair at judson church

03.18.07

if you don't tell me your namethen i won't send it to youi'm not a fan of anonymity

03.19.07

it’s the fourth anniversary of the warand nathaniel is hosting a day of readingsi’m out in long island and i can’t make itbut i probably wouldn’t have gone anywayit’s nine to fiveand i sleep until at least noonthough i don’t like the warand i do like nathaniel.

03.20.07

i like your namethe way they both flow togetherthe way they're like no names i've never seen alone and togetherit's something i think of everytime that i see it pop up in my email inbox

03.21.07

this guy from my college paper who was pretty damn annoyinghad his obituary in newsday today and following his name it said“noted for streisand shout-out,”and it brought up one of my favorite gameshow when walking after a reading with a big crowd of poets and no one has an idea as to where we should eat and drinkand no one’s paying attention to the traffichow invariably there’s one near missone or more members of the throng eluding a motor vehicleand i always wonder what the headline on the story would beif the dozen of us were hit by carsand some lived and some died,would the word poet be mentioned in the headline?probably notit might make it into the text,“they had just left a reading at st. mark’s church,”and fall beneath a headline likecab kills six, injures five on second avenue

03.22.07

came home todayafter leaving on the 14thnice to be homesent files ahead

03.23.07

dear brian,

i'm so sorry (potentially)starbucks has a new record labeland it’s signed paul mccartneyand i’m not sorry (potentially) about thatbecause i know that you don’t care

but then,the article said,that starbucks is talking toradioheadthat starbucks is talking toradioheadabout signing to their new labeland that’s why I’m so sorry (potentially)

love,david

03.24.07

(dream)

see rachel levitsky on W.31st street below 8th,which spurs me to get in touch with rod sperry,even though she is wrong rachel.i get in to cabrod drives in backand he switches into front passenger seat,which has a smaller driving set-up,and drives.after a while i am headed crosstown on 14th street busto work on paper with sean cole.bus stops at 8th avenue,i’m unsure it’s 8thand don’t see where sean cole is on busand waitand wait.i finally leave,grabbing what i think is my coat,and see a grey, hooded sweatshirt on groundand think it might be mine,but i realize i’m wearing mine.see sean at door of bus with his bike and am relieved.once we exiti think i’ve left all my computer equipment aboard the bus with rod.

03.25.07

there’s something about juliana hatfield’s voicewhere everytime i hear itit feels like i just heard it where everytime i hear iti feel like i wanna hear it againnow.

03.26.07

(dream)

i’m in boston to read at the middle east, which isn’t the middle east at all and is located off some corner in a real open traffic area, like if you took the other streets away from the angelika movie theater corner. sorta like that circle newsstand in cambridge with traffic flowing ’round it. rod sperry, who cofounded boog with me, is there and injured, though i don’t know how he got hurt. i go with him to the hospital and then later sit in a funky café downstairs wondering what i’m going to read. i think about reading this piece i’d written earlier about a road trip to boston, but i don’t have it with me and i don’t want to ask my roommate to look for it on my computer. i go up to the hospital to check on rod, and he says he’s ok. i ask if he needs anything and he says he’s tired, so i go.

now it’s light outside, and i’m sitting behind a picnic table set aways, a bit from a main shadowy walking street. i’m sitting there, maybe going through my work for the reading, and, for some reason, i’m naked, though, with the weather so nice, figure people will only think i’m going shirtless. a cute blonde, who from afar looks like that actress kerri lynn pratt, starts walking toward me, quickly, and then pauses. she then makes a mad lunge beneath the table to grab my clothes, so i hold on as tight as i can to a sweater and t-shirt, as she walks down the street with her friend.

03.27.07

my computer was running slowso i was going to shut it downbefore using it againso i grabbed my memo padand wrote down all of the websites i had openso i could reopen them after i watched a gilmore girls rerun:

nydailnews.com (still had to look at entertainment and sports)usatoday.com (to see their coverage of joe theisman being tossed out of the monday night football booth)acagalleries.com (to remind me to call dorian about the reading series’ start date for next season)google.com (image search for olympic swimmer amanda beard)imdb.com (checking if the miniseries from 1980 the contender is based on the book of the same name by times columnist robert lipsyte that I read in junior high)si.com (to read peter king’s monday morning quarterback column, and then it’s tuesday edition)folkartmuseum.com (to remember to tell mom about that martin ramirez exhibit i saw mentioned on the sunday morning show hosted by charles osgood)bowerypoetry.com and cake-shop.com (august calendars so i could check on booking time for a poetry and music festival)and some erotica site.

03.28.07

15 years to the dayi still always cry at christian laettner’s shotto help duke beat kentuckycapping off his perfect day,10 for 10 from the field,10 for 10 from the line.

03.29.07

(dream)

i’m in boston with sean cole in the back room of some venue we’re going to read in later. it’s the apartment of some hippie girl we don’t know but have befriended real quickly. we’re reading in hours and now just laying down with her on the floor, atop some huge, multi-colored throw pillows that when put together are as big as a queen-sized bed, with her in between sean and me, who are are a foot away from her. all of a sudden while we’re talking she begins to kiss me, a real passionate kiss, the kind you give someone yre gonna die with or someone you just met and’ll never know again in a few hours. and then she separated slowly from my mouth, searching our tongues with her right index finger and thumb for something that had been in her throat, finding it, a piece of melted chocolate mint, and flinging it away.

she asks how long we’ve known each other and we say at the same time “10 years,” and then i say it was just our anniversary, worried that she’ll think it was really our anniversary, but too afraid to look like a homophobe to clarify.

i mention how i had brought two paintings from ny for sean to celebrate and she awwwwed. and then i began to describe the paintings, with him chiming in that they were by this brooklyn artist, steve keene, who had seen he wasn’t getting a lot of sales with his larger work so he decided to mass produce his work on wood that was around a foot-squared and then i notice that over sean’s shoulder, toward the bottom of the wall, was a steve keene, though it looked like it was painted on tin. “that’s him,” i tell her.

then someone opens the door to this backroom apartment and i hear them announce that sean cole and david kirschenbaum will be reading later, to come back or stick around for awhile. someone pushes a giant shopping cart, the kind you’d see in some movie studio where they wanted to take pictures of people so they’d appear tiny, and it’s filled with popcorn. they go out to an alley through a sidedoor.

03.30.07

my brainand my birthday calendartell me it’s rachel’s birthday tomorrowbut i know she’s prone to last-minute travelingand faraway weekend getawaysso i call her at work todayand we chatit’s weird when you haven’t talked in a while,though our conversation’s easy,and it flows like always.but when we mention things that have happenedand we missedwe have to pause,then describeand I don’t like those pauses.

03.31.07

a lifelong friend and i finished playing phonetag and i asked him why he called, because he’s one of those friends who half the times calls just to check in but the other half he calls because he has a question or wants me to map out a potential trip for him (he still doesn’t have a computer, but that’s another story).

so i ask him why he’s called and he can’t remember, and then a few minutes later he does. “hey, you doin’ anything on sunday?” “nah,” i tell him. “you want to go to mohegan sun to see the p.b.a. championship?” p.b.a., as any sports geek like me knows, stands for the professional bowlers’ association, and philip’s been a bowling buddy since i was a teenager.

that’s when i started bowling, when i was in the 8th grade. i was getting in trouble in school all the time, getting these things they called referrals each time, more than anybody else in walter s. boardman junior high school. anything from the petty--talking from the back of the room where i’d always sit--to the, well, not-so-petty--multiple fistfights in locations ranging from the school bus to the cafeteria to the classroom to the gym.

so they said i should see a social worker, and i started seeing the one at school, miss brotman. and i talked a bit more in therapy then i do now, and i told her how my dad wasn’t really around. not in some sort of deadbeat dad sorta way, i mean my folks just celebrated their 53rd anniversary a month ago, but in the old school teamster sort of way.

dad was a sodaman, driving his mack truck to deliver rc and diet rite colas, nestea iced tea, and all the nehi flavors throughout long beach and the rockaways. and he’d be gone every weekday before i got up and almost every weekday not return until near my bedtime. so miss brotman suggested that he and i do something together each week that was just ours, and somehow that became bowling.

dad and i joined an adult-child league that fall of ’79, along with a friend of mine and his dad, who years later over a bong i was told was molesting his daughters. it was a handicap league, so each person would get a certain amount of points added to their score, depending on how good, or not so good, they normally were.

we didn’t have a handicap because we were good. well, because dad was good. dad grew up in the lower east side, on 3rd street between b and c, before making the big move uptown to 7th street between b and c. bowlmor lanes is in the same spot on university place just below 13th street that it’s been since 1938, when dad was eight. a few years later he would walk across town and become a pinboy there, standing behind the set up pins, waiting for the first ball to be thrown each frame, then moving the downed pins out of the way if a spare attempt was needed, or resetting all 10 pins following a strike in their four-row triangle before the next frame. soon he would be the one bowling, and when the pinboys saw that they had his lane they would try and trade off with a newbie who didn’t know that my dad threw the ball so hard you had to be careful a pin didn’t hit you square between the eyes.

so each sunday morning my dad and i would get up, he’d make us cheese omelettes, and then we’d head over to oceanside bowl. and for the next few hours all we’d do was bowl, three games a piece, against another adult-child pairing. invariably dad would give me advice, and, invariably, i’d ignore him, or become frustrated, as i’d cradle my sparkling blue columbia 300 ball where my chest meets my belly, the lanes’ oil darkening my shirt, before heading home with the sunday times to mom, recounting our exploits.

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